Barbara Hoffert interviews William Lychack - June 15, 2004
You have written short stories, but this is your
first novel. What is it like to move to a longer form?
There's a lot more uncertainty in a novel, but
it's a healthy kind of uncertainty. I could never really hold the entire
novel in my mind, whereas I often feel I can get a certain grip on a short
story. I can picture it sitting there on the table, like a paperweight or
a telephone. A novel-at least this one-always felt so much more desperate
and stormy and life-or-death to me, as if my very existence depended on
How did you manage to write so successfully in
the voice of a ten-year-old child?
I struggled and worried about getting Daniel's
voice and energy right. I talk to my judo kids [Lychack is currently a
judo instructor], who are all around ten, but I think I probably just
worked a long time on this book, more than ten years, actually. I never
really knew my father-I met him a couple of times before he died-so I
wanted to help this boy save his family and share a time with his father.
I still hope for him.
Your writing is so vivid and lyrical. How
conscious are you of style?
I hope I'm conscious enough now to stay out of my
own way and trust the story. As a reader, I don't want to be distracted by
the writing, only enchanted. Whatever style I might have is really just
the way I hear and see the words and pictures in my head. Also, I came to
the conclusion that the only way I could show how deeply I felt about this
novel was to lavish the writing with as much work and love and time as I
could. If I strayed into preciousness, I could count on both my wife and
my editor to thump me back to reality with their industrial-strength BS
You've worked at everything from ice cream man to
bartender. Do all these different experiences help your writing?
Absolutely. Aside from the obvious
all-walks-of-life aspects of these jobs, I think they all served to steer
me back to writing. Whether I hated the job or loved it, I always felt
compelled to figure out my novel, to lay my father to rest, so to speak.
Then again, not a day goes by that I don't think I should give up my
writing life and go back to driving that Softee truck… truly the
happiest job I ever had… cruising my little route…families waiting
outside in the dusk…that song playing all day long over you….well,
okay, maybe I could do without that song….
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